One night I had a dream. In this dream, I was the defendant in a trial, but it took place in a completely dystopian setting. I was trapped in a full-body metal suit, unable to move, lying on a table.
I could hear hushed whispers from a faceless crowd.
I was quite uncomfortable as my muscles cramped up. It was too warm, and I was beginning to feel thirsty.
The courtroom itself was on the rooftop of a skyscraper, and it was morning, the time the sun was beginning to rise. The idea was that by noon, the sun would gradually heat the armor, eventually killing the accused.
Inside my container, I was completely claustrophobic from not being able to move an inch. My only thought was to be freed from what was immobilizing me.
My discomfort grew with my thirst.
When the trial began, I was stunned. I didn't really know the nature of crime I was being accused of. I couldn't remember anything I had done was something I should be arrested for. But here I was, feeling the heat of the sun, claustrophobic, and desperate to get out. I was considering whether I should agree to let them hold me responsible for anything they might throw at me.
With a booming voice, the judge read the indictment, and asked the guards to loosen the restraints of the helmet so I could respond. They began to fiddle with the locking mechanism around my neck, and I realized that I could now move my head and jaw slightly. The judge then asked, "What do you have to say in your defense?"
There was a short silence, some anxious murmurs, guards clicking their weapons, then I heard someone laugh mockingly: "Let him cook!"
The crowd burst into loud jeers and insults.
I was in utter horror and disbelief after having heard the accusations. "A compliment", I stammered "but how could expressing appreciation be a crime?" However, I grew more alarmed when I heard the faceless crowd's reaction.
I was being accused of a entirely fabricated crime. It was something that should not be considered illegal in today's world. It was just a simple compliment to someone I considered a friend. How was I to know it was suddenly considered a micro-aggression, and highly illegal at that, a capital offense.
My sweating increased, and I grew more thirsty. The cramps were killing me.
There were some murmurs in the crowd, and I could hear nervous shuffling, as if something new was about to happen.
The harsh sunlight streaming through my window jolted me awake. Relief washed over me – it was just a dream. But a cold dread wrenched my gut while I gradually stretched, and a dull ache in my neck lingered, a phantom echo of the metal suit.
My fate was sealed in the dream, a chilling reminder that innocence held no sanctuary in that world, where even the most ordinary acts could be twisted into crimes. Reaching for a glass of water, I took a long, grateful drink. Cool, refreshing water of life.
Simple pleasures, I thought, sometimes taken for granted in a world that, for all its problems, seemed a paradise compared to the desolate, parched and horribly suffocating world in my dream.
